“Beats the hell out of me,” said Charles without looking up from his cards.
“He must have some decent part. They’ve called him twice now,” said Bridget, mulling it over. “I can’t stand the suspense.”
“Forget about it,” said Charles.
“But I’m curious,” she answered.
“So ask him when he gets back.”
“I want to see.”
“Oh no you don’t,” said Charles, finally looking up.
“Why not?”
“You stay right here, lest you get yourself fired and thrown off the lot.”
“Oh, give the girl a break,” said Marjorie.
“Yeah. Nobody will even notice,” said Bridget. She threw her cards down on the table and stood up. “You coming?” she asked.
“No thanks. I value this meager paycheck,” said Charles in a huff.
“I’ll come,” said Justin, hopefully.
“Hmm,” said Bridget. “You know, maybe Charles is right. Perhaps I better go alone.”
“But…!” said Justin.
“Keep your seat, Romeo. She’ll just end up getting you in trouble,” said Charles.
“I won’t be long,” said Bridget, leaving her change on the table behind her.
Kevin came back into the makeup trailer with a policeman’s uniform, shoes, belt and a hat. He found Warren sitting in a barber chair having a shave. When the stylist was finished, she took a towel to wipe his face. Warren’s hair was trimmed and slicked back in a golden wave. Without the beard, his striking features were obvious. Even the blonde makeup artist looked at him with a newfound respect. Where moments before had sat a dirty bum, now sat markedly handsome man, albeit in filthy clothing.
“Phenomenal,” said Kevin, handing him the uniform. “Put this on.”
When she crept through the doorway and into the soundstage Bridget worried that she might be spotted, but with the crew on break the place was nearly deserted. To her right was a jumble of equipment, including light stands, booms and cameras. She moved behind them and made her way toward the set. She heard voices talking to one another as she crawled into a small space between two false walls. On her right was a painted backdrop of a city scene. Just above her and to the left was a window looking through to the set. Bridget slowly lifted herself up to peer through the window. Across the stage she saw Kaplan and Craddock sitting at a table with their casting director. All three looked ill when Jessica Turnbull stormed into the room like a tempest. Bridget ducked low again to keep from being seen.
“What is this I hear about some extra playing my love interest?!” Jessica screamed.
“What makes you say that?” answered Craddock.
“That dirty, filthy man from yesterday!? How can you do this to me?! You’re not getting away with this! I’ll walk, I swear I will! This is a breach of contract!”
“Jessica, we’ve made no decisions on that role yet. We’re just looking at our options,” said Kaplan.
“He’s never acted a day in his life! Forget it, Roger! No way!” Jessica continued her tirade.
“Um, excuse us,” came Kevin’s voice as he entered the stage. “Are we interrupting?”
“No, heavens no!” said Kaplan. “Come on in. We were just, um, talking about this role. Come on in.”
Bridget peeked through from her hiding place and audibly gasped before clasping a hand to her mouth, hoping she hadn’t been heard. She ducked her head back low, but when nobody seemed to have noticed, she took another look, watching with her eyes just above the windowsill. Standing behind Kevin she saw Warren in a police officer’s uniform. The transformation was remarkable. His hair was washed and combed, his face clean-shaven. Just as she suspected, he was remarkably handsome.
“This is the man we talked about?” said Kaplan. He sounded a bit confused.
“Yes, sir,” answered Kevin. “This is Warren. Warren, you remember Stewart Kaplan, our director.”
“Yes, of course,” said Warren.
“You say he can act?” said Craddock in disbelief.
“Why don’t we find out?” said Kaplan anxiously. “Unless you have some objection, Jessica?” Kaplan looked to his starlet who stood in silence. “Thank you for coming, Warren,” Kaplan continued. “I apologize for the short notice.”
“That’s all right, I don’t mind,” said Warren. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Good,” said Kaplan. “You see, we’re having a bit of a problem here. It seems that one of our performers injured himself in a skiing accident, and we’re having an awfully hard time filling his role on such short notice. We wondered if you might try reading for us?”
“Sure,” Warren shrugged. Bridget could tell he was uneasy. She wished she could help him, and tell him that everything would be all right, but he was on his own.
Kevin handed Warren some script pages. “The scene is here,” Kevin said, pointing to the lines. Everyone in the room was quiet in anticipation. Warren looked over the pages.
“Your character is a police officer named Casey,” Kaplan explained. “You’ve been offered a risky undercover job, and you’ve decided to take it. Understand?”
“I think so,” said Warren.
“Good. Why don’t you stand over there near the desk? Just start reading when you’re ready.”
Warren moved across the set and then looked over the lines once more before he lifted an eyebrow and faced the panel. Their expressions were intent, each and every one.
“Go ahead,” said Kaplan. “Just like yesterday.” Craddock folded his arms, and scowled in a critical expression, as though dismissing Warren before he even began. Jessica gazed at his butt in the tight-blue policeman’s uniform and studied his sturdy upper body with an air of satisfaction.
“My dad was a cop. My uncle was a cop. My cousins are cops,” said Warren, as his anxiety melted away. “Since I was born, all I wanted was to be a cop. I know this case is dangerous, but I want to stay on it. It’s what I do. I’m a cop.” There was no artifice in his reading. There was no phony accent. But there was sincerity, and depth, and emotion, and nearly everyone in the room was impressed.
“Very good, go on,” said Kaplan, intrigued.
“McGhee and his gang are the scum of the earth,” Warren continued, gaining confidence as he went. “I don’t want to live in a world where a good honest cop is afraid of slime like that. If it takes all the strength I’ve got, I’m going to be the one to bring him down, so help me!” Warren stopped and looked up. He was met by expressions of disbelief; jaws hanging down, eyes open wide. Only Craddock seemed unmoved.
“How many films have you acted in before, Mr.?” said Craddock.
“August. Warren August. This is my first film, sir.”
“Your first film?” Craddock sneered.
“Yes, sir,” said Warren in shame, as if he’d done something wrong.
“And you’re an extra?” continued Craddock.
“Not really,” said Warren. “I mean, I guess so… For the last couple of days anyway.” He glanced toward the door to the freedom from scrutiny that beaconed just outside.
Craddock shook his head and sighed. “Ok, Stewart, the game’s up. Thank you for coming Mr. August. You can go.”
“All right,” said Warren with obvious relief.
“Hang on,” Kaplan stopped Warren from leaving just yet. The director walked around the table to scrutinize the extra’s face. He held two fingers under Warren’s chin and carefully moved his head from side to side. “He has that lean, hungry look. Like Willem Dafoe, only maybe better looking. It’s that hungry look that draws you in.” He took the pages from Warren’s hand and then turned back to Craddock. “You know who he reminds me of? A young Jeff Bridges.”
“Oh, come on,” said Craddock.
“Don’t tell me you can’t see it!?”
Craddock looked Warren over more intently. He sighed. “Ok, maybe a little bit. Pre-Lebowski.”
“Of course.”
“I mean, he’s not The Dude.”
“I can see The Dude in him, absolutely!”
“I never really liked The Dude.”
“Ok, fine, he’s not The Dude!”
“Maybe Tron. The first one. I can see some resemblance there.”
“Look, whatever! He’s got that spark, that’s all I’m saying!” Kaplan was beside himself. He turned back toward Warren. “You can wait outside. Just don’t go too far away.”
“Sure,” Warren answered. “You know where to find me.”
From her hiding place behind the set, Bridget ducked back low but remained where she was, listening to every word.
“Look, you’ve had your fun,” said Craddock when Warren was gone. “But you can’t really mean it.”
“Are you mad? That guy was phenomenal!” Kaplan raised his voice.
“Come on, Stewart! He’s some punk off the street! Jessica’s right.”
“Whatever I said about him, I take it back,” said Jessica in amazement, as though trying to process what she’d just seen.
“You can’t be serious,” said Craddock.
“If you can’t see his talent, Roger, you have no business in this industry,” said Kaplan.
“You people are insane,” said Craddock, but from his tone it was apparent that Kaplan’s comment stung. “I want someone with a track record. Proven appeal! Not some complete nobody!” he added. “You can forget about Warren August.”
“So what am I supposed to do? I’m running out of scenes to shoot! At least let me try him out!” said Kaplan. “You can look at the dailies tomorrow. If he’s no good, we’ll let him go.”
“And waste a whole day?” Craddock whined.
“Do you have a better idea?” said Kaplan.
Craddock’s long silence conveyed his frustration. “Fine, he’s got one day,” he finally replied, “but the dailies better be damned good!”
“I think we might just have our man,” said Kaplan with an air of satisfaction.
From behind the set, Bridget quietly backed out the way she had come, on hands and knees. She got to her feet without being seen, but then heard voices. Some of the crew were coming back from their lunch break. She slid back into her hiding spot. Would they care if she was in here? She decided not to take any chances.
“What are we shooting next?” one of the crew members asked, as three sets of legs came into view on the other side of the equipment.
“Scene twenty-three. The police chief’s office.”
From where she sat, Bridget could see the open doorway. It was only thirty feet away, but she’d never make it without being spotted. She breathed a deep sigh and settled in to wait.
Chapter Thirteen
Inside a changing room in the wardrobe trailer, Warren stood alone in front of a full-length mirror, illuminated from above by a single fluorescent bulb. The sight of himself in a uniform gave him pause. He almost had to laugh. This was the first time in a very long time that he looked like a respectable member of society. Sadly it was just an illusion. Warren rubbed two fingers across his cheek; the first time he’d seen his clean-shaven face in years. Slowly he took off the uniform and put back on his filthy old clothes. Warren walked out of the changing room and turned the uniform, hat and shoes over to a wardrobe attendant. He was walking down the stairs of the trailer when Kevin caught up to him. “Hey, Warren, nice job with the reading,” he said.
“Thanks,” Warren answered with some skepticism in his voice.
“They want you to come back tomorrow and give it a go,” Kevin continued.
“Does that mean I got the part?”
“It means we’ll see how you do. Let me have your voucher and I’ll sign you out for today.”
Warren pulled his voucher out of his pocket and handed it to Kevin, who held it against the trailer wall and scrawled an out time and signature across the bottom.
“You did well. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it,” said Kevin, sensing Warren’s uncertainty.
“Thank you.” Warren licked his lips.
“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” said Kevin, before hurrying back to find his boss.
When Bridget finally made it back outside, she found the others still gathered at the tables. “Have you seen Warren?” she asked with some urgency.
“I think so,” answered Marjorie, who was back to playing solitaire. “At least someone who vaguely resembled him. Only a lot better looking.”
“Yeah, yeah, where is he?” said Bridget.
“They sent him home for the day,” said Charles. “Signed him off for a full eight, too, the lucky bastard.”
“Why do you ask?” said Marjorie slyly. She was always in the market for some gossip.
“I just want to talk to him,” Bridget answered flatly in response.
“He’ll be back tomorrow, honey. He’s not going anywhere.”
Bridget headed across the lot. She didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. Warren had done amazingly well, it was true, but he was out of his element. He needed guidance. What if he got the part? Surely they’d take advantage of him if they could. Someone had to explain the ins and outs of the business to him; to tell him about agents and managers and the basics of a standard contract. At the very least she could help get him started. When she got to the front gate she moved past the guardhouse and out onto the sidewalk. She looked in both directions up and down the street. Warren was nowhere to be seen. Bridget turned to the guard. “Where did he go?” she said.
“Who?”
“Warren…the guy,…oh never mind,” she blurted in frustration. She picked a direction and rushed off down the street. When she got to the first intersection she saw Warren’s figure heading toward Hollywood Boulevard in the distance. “Warren!” she called out, but he was too far off to hear her.
Bridget hustled after, intending to stop him when she could, but as she followed along, curiosity began to take hold. After a few blocks she slowed down and simply watched as Warren casually wandered down a side street, waved and chatted to a few other homeless people. He peered into garbage cans from time to time out of habit. This was his life; his actual life. He looked completely at home on the street; much more than he was on set, where he often seemed out of place and out of sorts. Here he appeared at ease in his natural environment.
When he arrived at a homeless shelter, Warren high-fived a couple of scruffy-looking men outside and spoke to them briefly before he disappeared through the front door. Bridget sat down on some stairs across the street to take in the scene. Who were these people; these homeless men and women? How did they get here? How long did they stay? Did they have any happiness in their lives? She watched these discards of society limping, hobbling and shuffling past. What she really wanted to know was how Warren August had ended up among them. How did this attractive, intelligent man get here in the first place and what did he need in order to get out? A bit of encouragement? The love of a good woman? That thought frightened her as she realized that she was more than just intrigued by this man. She quickly tried to put these ideas out of her mind. Maybe she could still help him get on the right track, and perhaps straighten out his life. There was only one way to find out. She stood up and walked across the street.